


The Great Orc

by twowritehands



Category: Bright (2017)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-22 19:56:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13771392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twowritehands/pseuds/twowritehands
Summary: Mikey thinks of a way to thank Nick for saving his life





	The Great Orc

**Author's Note:**

> All of the “Bodzvokhan” lines are just straight up Russian copy and pasted from google translate.

 

Mikey liked tagging. Of all the shit his father’s community expected him to do, painting symbols and vulgar words on a wall was a damn cake walk. They even let him choose the colors, and--whenever he got carried away and went elaborate about it with several paints and hours of work--they grunted in approval, thumped him on the back.

Once or twice they grinned past their teeth at him and said, “Looks like ya got some talent, Mikey.”

But the ugly streets of LA didn't exactly encourage young orcs to think of themselves as _artists, to_  carry dreams or even the slightest hope that maybe life can be more than the pride of the clan.

At nineteen, he was the only orc he knew that actually graduated high school. It hadn't been easy balancing his loyalties to his father and his homework. Making supply pickups and cash drop offs late into the night seriously cut into his studying time. But you do for family. You do for Clan. Nothing else mattered.

Education had to take a back burner. He graduated public school on his own grit and determination, but he just barely made the grades to pull it off. So, as soon as the tassel was turned, he had nowhere to go but home. Back to working the streets for his father.

Tagging--he dare not call it painting--was his only escape. So he did it often. And more and more he started choosing not to do the tag for his clan. Instead, he'd do other things. Holy scenes of Jirak mostly. That kind of imagery was expected on this side of town. Violence and religion, hand in fucking hand.

Mikey got through most of his days by just not thinking about anything but his next piece. Where he would do it. When he could have time to do it and get away with it. What paints he would need…

Some of the older members of the clan started to make comments. He was a little too old to keep doing the little jobs he'd grown up doing. Time to get his hands dirty. Be a blooded and true orc.

He kept his head down and did the occasional shoplifting or drug and cash exchange. But mostly he stuck to tagging and hoped it would be enough. He never thought it would lead him to where he needed to be.

And he certainly never thought that where he needed to be was the wrong damn place at the wrong fucking time.

_Paint fumes stung his wide, sensitive nostrils. The nozzle dribbled black paint down his thick finger. He'd been at it for hours, safe in this dead end alley behind a fence and lots of dumpsters. His piece was simple that day. A black silhouette of Jirak and inside it, a white silhouette of a young orc with a crown._

_He heard the deep shout, an orc’s throaty voice. Orc words. “Police! Stop!” Before he even knew what the fuck was happening, a gun pressed to the back of his raised hoodie. Mikey froze as panic seized him. Dead end. Nowhere to go._

_A wrap for tagging wasn't exactly a reason to be afraid, but fear shot through him anyway. Guns pressed to the skull had that effect. He dropped his paint can and prayed. Cops were cruel to orcs. Everyone knew that. He could die right here and now._

_Rough hands jerked him around and slammed him to the wall. He looked straight down the barrel of a cop’s gun and understood right down to his bones why orcs hated cops._

_One thing he didn't understand, though--it was a fucking orc holding the gun. In uniform. A badge. Looking for all the world like he was trying to be a human. He even had filed down, rounded teeth._

_Their eyes met. Mikey saw fury and determination glinting there. But then the cop’s nostrils flared and those eyes widened in shock. Suddenly, Mikey was free of any hold._

_“You're not the guy,” the officer said. The immediate loss of aggression happened so fast it left Mikey wheeling. And was that apology in his tone? Even regret?_

_From there everything happened fast--the orc with a badge helped him to escape. Why, he didn't know. Who he'd been mistaken as or what that other orc had done, he didn't know. He knew only one thing. It was bad. So when the uniformed orc told him to run, he ran._

 

What had been a weird occurrence in an otherwise normal day turned out to be so much more than that. Word was a cop got blasted just around the corner, and the orc cop let the shooter get away. Mikey understood what happened, then.

Had that orc not helped him get away, a shit storm of cop fury would have rained down on his ass. They would have beaten him to death right then and there. No evidence. No rights. No trial.

That orc saved his life.

Mikey said his thanks to Jirak--even went to church and lit a candle--and then went back to his life. Or tried to.

But an orc with a badge? He'd never even conceived of the idea. So time and time again, Mikey’s mind floated back to that officer. He'd been handsome, even without his teeth. (In a weird, clean cut and goody toes shoes way, that is.) And he hadn't seemed all that old. Like a rookie or something.

Mikey dismissed the subject from his thoughts whenever he caught himself getting carried away.

What if they saw one another again? He'd want to say _thanks for what you did that day._ And what if it made the officer smile?

These kinds of thoughts were best kept kicked down and away. Like when he saw commercials for online art classes and the like. Just not conducive to surviving on the real streets that he had to live on.

He had just got it all behind him when his father handed him a gun and told him that some business had come up that he could help with. “Tonight, you earn your colors.”

Cold dread settled on him. He'd always known this day was coming. He'd held out hope he could somehow avoid it. But no. The fact of life was that his father had soldiers to keep peace in his community. And soldiers had to kill. And nineteen year olds were too damn old to only be tagging walls in the name of the clan.

What had already been a nightmare turned into a stone cold hell when Mikey realized that the “coupla cops” that he would be “doing” were one busted up human and--his orc.

Mikey was so shocked he didn't even realize he thought of the orc cop as _his_ orc.

He watched the orc--Officer Nick Jakoby--refuse to bend even a little under the weight of a clan king’s threats. He watched him take beating after beating and refuse to yield. Because he was fighting for something. Something right. Something bigger than himself.

It couldn't be Clan. So what was it?

In the end, Mikey hadn't been able to harm the man that saved him and the raw confession he made to his father sounded like cowardice but felt like the bravest fucking leap of his life.

His father pressed their foreheads together in understanding but then sent him away.

Mikey walked from that room fit to burst into tears. He'd been relieved of the job, but he knew the job was still going to be done. Nick Jakoby was going to die. Broken and bloody but loyal to his cause. Even if it was the cause of humans.

Locked in his room, Mikey cried it out. It had taken this long but finally, he admitted to himself that he wanted more. He didn't want to be a thug on the streets. Where all he had was a bloody fight for respect and maybe one day a female willing to ignore the way males tended to catch his eye faster.

Hours later though, everything changed.

His father returned home with a fantastical, unbelievable, truly mind boggling story. Magic. And an elf girl. And a wand.

Nick Jakoby had risen from the dead. Orcs had bowed to him. Raised their blood to him.

Mikey knew a miracle when he heard about it but the biggest miracle of all was the way his father let this orc with a badge supercede him in power.

Nick was by no means the king of the clan now--that was still Mikey’s father. But Dorghu was going to play nice with the cops now. Because that was what Nick was. A cop. And an orc.

A great orc.

Mikey and his father actually attended a cop ceremony wherein Nick Jakoby received a metal. They stood in the back, a distance from the crowd of cops and their families. But close enough to see.

Afterwards, Mikey and his clan raised their fists for Nick and then the clan dispersed. But Mikey lingered. It was high time to give that Thank You.

**

Nick separated himself from the crowd--it was easy, because no one tried to keep him. They at least didn't sneer at him. So that was a win. He took the medal from around his neck because it felt like a little much to actually keep wearing it.

Just as he wrapped the ribbon around his fingers, a familiar scent touched his nose before a voice said, “Officer Jakoby?”

He knew who it was before he turned. The kid looked nervous but determined. Nick gave him a smile. “Hey, Mikey. You okay?”

Mikey let out a hot breath and nodded. His yellow eyes dragged for a moment down Nick’s dress uniform and back up. The scent changed on the air. Nick’s mouth salivated, and he gulped. _Oh._ The scent was unmistakable: this young orc was attracted to him. Physically.

“I just wanted to thank you--for what you did.”

“Hey,” Nick stammered, uncomfortable. “All I did was get you in a mess and then get you out of it.” That scent wafted over him, like the enticing aroma of freshly baked and buttered bread. “Uh…. I should be thanking _you_ for not killing me!” He smiled, feeling his own ears flick and wishing he hadn't shown that sign of nerves.

The fact was, he stood now at a crossroads. When an orc put out what Nick’s mother used to call “The Come Hithers”, it meant two things. One: by orc law, the orc was of age to marry anyone else of age. Two:  the orc might still not be legal by government law, as some orcs could produce the scent as early as fifteen. Legal/illegal it was a grey area and a hot topic of debate.

And to be honest, Nick had no idea exactly how old this kid was. His height and demeanor said teenager, late teens. But if he hadn't even been initiated into the Fogteeth gang, then surely to goodness he was barely sixteen at the most. Right?

“Look, about that,” Mikey said. He shuffled and shoved his hands in his baggy jeans pockets. “I have a second thing to thank you for.”

Nick frowned. “You do?”

“You didn't break,” Mikey said in a nervous rush. Then he rolled his lips between his tusks. He shrugged. “My father breaks everyone and you- _”_ he stopped and shook his head. His ears twitched. _“Thank you_ for not letting him win.”

“Dorghu shot me through the spine!” Nick huffed, grinning with a strange wave of gallows humor. “He _definitely_ won that one.”

“No,” Mikey said with firm resolve flashing in his yellow eyes. “He only shot you because he had to. Because you wouldn't give him anything. I didn't know--I always thought an orc had to stand for a clan or nothing at all. But you stood for something outside of gang wars and violence, you stood for it even as you crumpled and bled for it…” Mikey trailed off.

His cream and olive green mottled skin darkened around the ears. An orc blush. “When I saw you do that I--I had the courage to pick what I truly want to stand for.”

Nick balked, jaw dropping as the young thug in front of him smiled shyly.

“I signed up for art classes. At the local community college. I got a job to pay my way through without my father's drug and gun money. A legitimate job. I--I won't be joining Fogteeth. Not ever.”

Blinking and then chuckling, Nick whacked the younger orc on the shoulder. “Way to go, man!”

“I want to be a great orc,” Mikey said, standing straighter. “By _my_ definition. Not theirs. I want to be great like you.”

Flattered beyond belief, Nick felt suddenly shy. What didn't help was that his earlier dilemma was suddenly solved. Mikey was going to college. That meant he had to be legal by _all_ standards.  Legal and _interested_.

Nick may have been raised unblooded, but even unblooded orcs had no qualms about age difference so long as both parties were mature. And now he knew there couldn't be more than six years between them at most, which wasn't much at all.

“Yo, Nick!” A voice called over the crowd. That was Ward, with his family. They beckoned him over.

“Uh,” Nick said eloquently. Torn between a chance to spend time with the Ward family or a chance to get his rocks off, he stood there at a complete loss.

“Go,” Mikey said. His scent profile changed, and he shuffled a few steps away. “It was nice talking with you, Officer Jakoby. I'll, I'll see you around.”

“Wait--” Nick began.

“NICK! Man, c’mon!” Ward called impatiently.

“Bye,” Mikey ducked away through the crowd.

Turning toward his partner and begrudging friend, Nick grumbled a tight, “Fuck,” under his breath.

***

Respect from blooded orcs made life marginally easier. At least now, Nick only had to deal with regular racism. He continued to find rude notes and hear cruel whispers from other cops, but that was from the bottom up. The progressive thinking and goodwill that had gotten him the job in the first place trickled down from the top, just enough to keep him employed and hopeful that one day the world would be a better place for his kind.

His partnership with Ward was growing stronger by the day. Hard to say if it was from surviving such an ordeal together, being in a prophecy, or simply keeping the world from knowing Ward was a Bright. Nick honestly didn't care why. It was nice having a good partner, even if they weren't friends.

They did what partners do. Rode together. Watched each other’s backs. Grabbed lunch together everyday. There were few places that accommodated their wildly different tastes. One was a small sandwich shop in walking distance of the precinct, and, bonus, cops got a discount. He and Ward went there so often they had The Usual, and a routine.

Nick went to the restrooms first and washed up while Ward placed their order. When he came out, Ward handed him a cup and gestured to the cashier. “Tell 'em what how you like yours.”

“The usual.”

“He’s new.”

“Oh.” Nick turned and then fell back on his heels. “Oh. Mikey!”

The delicious aromas of food had disguised Mikey’s scent or else Nick would have been better prepared to see the cute artist. The sandwich shop uniform looked good on him. A polo shirt and slacks gave him a clean cut, polished look. He'd ditched the exaggerated gold chains and earrings which had blended him so well among his Fogteeth peers.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

“Um… your order?”

“Oh! Uh. Vegetarian with extra tomato and extra extra sauce.”

Mikey grinned softly as he punched in the order. The computer beeps filled an awkward silence. Nick’s ears twitched.

He tried not to breathe through his nose. He didn't want to smell if Mikey was still interested. Because if it was yes then Nick would act on it. And it was better not to.

He'd thought long and hard on it after running into Mikey at the award ceremony. As tempting as it was, he just shouldn't. Sure, Mikey had sworn off the gangster life, but he was still affiliated with one of the more dangerous and powerful LA orc gangs. Fuck, he was more than affiliated. He was the only son of the Fogteeth leader, a man who’d had no qualms about shooting Nick in the back, even knowing what Nick had done for Mikey.

In the scenario where Dorghu was to learn that Nick did other things for Mikey--dick in ass type things--well, it wouldn't go any better. In fact it would go worse. Way worse.

So seeing Mikey behind the counter at the sandwich shop almost daily became just another obstacle that Nick had to clear in order to survive his day. To do this, he developed methods. He tried to be in the middle of some important conversation with Ward upon entering the shop. Whenever he placed his order, he wasn't rude, but he kept conversation short. _I'll have the usual_ . _How's school. Is that ciabatta fresh?_

In his turn, Mikey smiled at him through his protruding teeth, asked how Nick’s day was going. He always asked if he wanted more sauce on the side despite having just drowned Nick’s bread in the stuff, and he never failed to bid both Nick and Ward to “be safe out there, officers.”

More than once, Nick accidently inhaled the skin tingling sweetness of the other orc’s Come Hithers and felt a full body flush of desire. To which he only clenched his teeth and grunted before turning away.

He knew Mikey would be smelling his answering desire each and every time. That was how orc biology worked. So Nick could trust that Mikey understood the situation. The impossibleness of it. That Nick wasn't acting not for lack of interest. They just couldn't.

Being the amazing young orc that he was, Mikey never looked hurt or seemed determined to change Nick’s mind. But he never tried to reign in his own desire, either. It was clear he planned to be available should their impossible situation ever change.

Nick sometimes allowed himself to fantasize that it had changed. But doing so always left him feeling lonelier than ever, so he tried not to do it a lot. To blow off steam he sometimes drove hours out of his way to gay bars outside the jurisdiction of their precinct.

There were never a lot of orcs in these bars.

If there were any, they tended to be bouncers or bartenders. So what little fingers of pleasure Nick managed to scratch out in these dingy, dark clubs out in the margins of his life, it usually came from adventurous elves or super kinky humans. Quick and dirty blow jobs. Some grinding on the dance floor.

Then one day, months after Mikey first appeared in the sandwich shop, things changed. Ward had a pleased human face, tinged with humor, as they took their sandwiches and found their usual table out in the sidewalk dining area.

“Yo, that boy wants you bad.”

Nick drew up short. “You can smell that?”

“What?” Ward looked disgusted. “Nah, dude, if I could smell a nasty sex stank, I wouldn't be getting my sandwiches here.”

“The mating scent is an exceedingly _pleasurable_ aroma,” Nick countered, to which he received a classic Ward face. The, _bitch I don't need to know that_ , face. “And if you can't smell it then how do you know?”

“I can _tell_ it.” Ward smirked. “Cos I got eyes and I got a brain. He's hurtin’ for it. Why ain't you tossin’ him a little somethin’ on the weekends?”

“He's a kid, ward.”

“You say that like orcs ain't got child brides.”

“I would _never_ \--” Nick began heatedly.

“Chill dude. I got it.” Ward cut in. “But seriously, though, Mike is a grown ass man. Might be _newly_ grown ass but he's still grown ass. Know what I'm saying?”

Nick felt himself blushing. He poked at the pickle on his tray, which was sitting in a pool of pesto sauce that had leaked from his extra-extra sauce veggie sandwich. “The guys at the station just now stopped harassing me for being an orc. If they knew I--...” He trailed off and shook his head.

“Damn, Jakoby.” Ward sat back in his seat, dark eyes sparkling. “Sometimes I think you _want_ to be the minority in every way fuckin’ possible.”

“You think I _chose_ my sexuality just like I chose which race to be born to, which family?” Nick snapped.

“Nah… but you _did_ choose your job tho so…” Ward shrugged. “If you can't deal with the shit you'll get for being a gay orc cop, then you should go be, like, a kindergarten teacher or some shit. Because that's whatchu are. You a gay orc cop.  So you gotta grow some hairless gay orc balls and _be_ a gay orc cop.”

Nick sighed. Defeated. Ward made a lot of sense, but it wasn't so easy. Nick had gotten to where he was after a long, bloody and lonely road. He finally had friends. Some begrudging respect. He was supposed to put himself right back at the beginning by getting himself a little gangster bred boyfriend?

“Look,” Ward looked serious for once. Theirs had grown into one of those sarcastic, constantly-ribbing-one-another-with-insults kind of dynamics. A phrase like, _we’re not friends_ actually meant, _I'd die for this mother fucker_. As a result, they weren't often serious like this so the expression stunned Nick.

“You deserve to be happy and have something in your life thatchu enjoy and that's just for you.” Ward glanced into the shop, where Mikey made a couple of sandwiches with a wireless phone pinched between his head and shoulder and a line forming at the register. “And let's face it, dude. You ain't got a hell of a lot of options, am I right? So you gotta jump on whatever you can get.”

This settled over Nick and left him quiet and moody for the duration of their short lunch break. When they were done eating, Nick bussed the table as Ward went to the restroom to take his usual piss.

The shop had patrons filling the small tables along the walls but for once there was no line at the counter. Nick approached it, feeling butterflies.

“Mikey,” he said. The orc was on a stool with his phone out.

“Vse v poryadke s buterbrodom?” ( _Everything okay with the sandwich_?) He asked in Bodzvokhan. He would have to assume something was wrong; Nick never approached the counter before leaving.

“No! I mean, yes. The sandwich was fine. Good. Delicious. As usual. Um.” He was fucking this up. He stopped babbling and sighed. Mikey left his stool, phone going into pocket, and leaned on the counter directly in front of Nick. That left about two or three feet between them, tops.

From there, Nick simply closed his eyes and inhaled, slowly and deeply.

He smelled deli meats and vegetables, and the various patrons of the shop but, most of all, he smelled Mikey. Sweet and pure but with a sudden sharpness to it. Like a spike on one of those earthquake detector readouts in the movies.

When he opened his eyes, Mikey was blushing, but the slots of his nostrils were open. He, too, was inhaling nice and slowly. This was a piece of orc ritual that missed on humans a lot. To outsiders, it looked like they were just standing there in awkward silence.

But it was the equivalent of two humans taking one another's hand for the first time and holding it just to hold it.

“I--I’m free on Fridays after three,” Mikey said lowly. “My shift ends after lunch, and I don't have classes.”

“Friday,” Nick repeated and nodded once. Today was Wednesday. He pulled a card from his pocket. One he'd written on back at the table, with a grinning Ward watching. Plain white, it had his contact information on it in black ink, the numbers and letters scribbled in Vukht rather than English. He put it on the counter now as Ward emerged from the restroom.

Ward past him and went on out.

Nick started walking backwards towards the door. He felt light and jittery with nervous anticipation. He liked the way Mikey smiled as he lifted the card from the countertop.

“Pyatnitsa,” Nick said. _Friday_.

“Stay safe out there, Nick.” Mikey returned.

***

When Friday afternoon came around, Nick had arranged to be free of duty for the evening. He dressed in the kind of clothes he usually wore to the bars he visited. A button down open at the collar. Nice jeans. He'd showered, made sure his teeth were brushed, and that his nails were clean.

Mikey had texted an address on thursday that told Nick where to find him. An apartment in a rundown but safe building just outside the ghetto, in walking distance of the art school.

Instructions were to buzz apartment 8 on the third floor. The directory showed four names scribbled beside the buzzer. One of them M. Dorghu.

Nick pressed it, feeling butterflies.

“Yo,” a voice asked. Not Mikey.

“Um hi,” Nick said, having been unprepared to deal with roommates. “I'm Nick. Uh. For Mikey?”

“Ah, yeah, Nick. Come on up, dawg.”

A buzz and Nick hurried in. By the time he climbed three flights of stairs, he had passed two different orcs that scowled at him for the usual reason. One of them even muttered, “Get lost, round tooth.”

It didn't affect him, of course. Not after a lifetime. But he suddenly worried for Mikey. Was he mentally prepared to be seen with a round tooth?

He knocked once and barely had to wait before the door opened and then closed just as quickly, but not before Mikey darted out. With him came a whiff of lizard musk. He had a backpack over one shoulder, and his sandwich shop uniform was replaced with skin tight denim and a t-shirt that accentuated his shoulders and collar bones.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hi,” Nick returned, a tad on the breathless side. Mikey looked _good_.

“I have roommates,” he said with a toss of his hand toward the door. “Three of them. Brezziks. We--uh. Well. None of us are very good house keepers and so it smells like lizard dude in there.”

“I noticed.” Mikey looked horrified so Nick hurried to say, “Brezzik musk is preferable over human sweat. The guys at the precinct are trying to get rid of me with BO, I'm sure of it.”

Mikey chuckled, hitching the strap of his pack on his shoulder. Nick realized it was heavy. “What’d you have there?”

“Well I thought--since my place is so crowded we could maybe have a picnic?”

Breaking into a wide smile, Nick couldn't hold back his enthusiasm. “Yeah! Sure! Wow that would be nice.”

They fell into step down the stairs. “Studying art, I've made a lot of friends and some of them have turned me onto cooking. I'm not half bad. Or maybe I'm just easily impressed by anything that doesn't go in a microwave.”

“Do you have a place for our picnic in mind?”

Mikey shrugged. “I guess a place in the park?”

Nick shook his head. “Nah. I can do better than that. Come with me.”

During the drive, Nick asked, “So how's your new life treating you?”

“It's okay,” Mikey said. “Not always easy but in a good way. My biggest challenge is balancing work, lectures and homework. But that's nothing after the stuff I grew up with.”

“Your clan isn't mad you turned your back?”

“Well, no. But I don't need them. Dad is still speaking to me. He gets it, but he's not happy about it. He's worried, mainly. Artists don't exactly have it easy and. He's my dad. He wants it to be easy for me.”

“If not for his chosen career, I'd say he sounds like a stand up guy.”

Mikey chuckled. “What about your parents?”

“They’re in a little town upstate. My dad is a janitor. My mom is the babysitter for all the kids in our neighborhood. They're horrified by the risk I'm taking by being an LA street cop. Proud too. But mostly horrified.”

“What made you do it?”

“I watched too much TV as a kid. Got an idea to do it and then couldn't shake it. Just wanted to help people. Then after enough of my peers and teachers and relatives told me that I shouldn't bother, I just _had_ to try. I had to at least try. Because one thing my old man always told me was that the minute you listen to Them is the minute you lose yourself and become only who they decide you are.”

The car filled with Mikey’s scent. “That's a really great way to lead your life.”

“Great but not easy.”

Nick was glad the drive wasn't a long one. He pulled into his usual parking spot. “We’re here.”

“Where are we?”

“This is my building. I live on the second floor. But--come on. I'll show you.”

When they got in the elevator, Nick pushed the button for the top floor. Then from there, he lead his date to the stairwell and climbed to the roof door. Mikey followed him out into the rooftop garden.

“Whoa!” He said, looking around at the raised flowerbeds and clusters of various vegetable plants.

“I grow everything from tomatoes to squash. Look, I even got a lemon tree over here and I got one little lemon coming in. See?”

“This is all yours?”

“Well,” Nick shrugged. “Gotta have hobbies, right? The landlord takes an extra fifty every month to allow me the space.”

“This is amazing!”

“Let's set up right here.” Nick said, moving some patio chairs to clear a patch of roof. Within minutes they had a blanket spread out and arranged themselves and the food containers on it.

“This is a nice spread,” Nick said, popping open a container of some kind of fruity crumbly dessert.

“I know you're a vegetarian, so I stayed away from meat. We have pasta and tossed salad and a cherry pie.”

“Fantastic!” Nick said, having slipped a finger full of the pie. The cherries exploded on his tongue, almost dazzling. “Mmm! Tell your dad not to worry. You have a fallback career as a chef!”

Mikey took the pie. “That's dessert!”

“Hey, I want that back!” Nick cried and swiped at it.

Mikey pulled it out of reach with a laugh. “You're supposed to eat it last!”

“Too late for me; I've had a taste and I'm not going back.” Nick lunged to take the container and caught it but ended up in Mikey’s space.

He didn't even think twice before he kissed Mikey right between the teeth.

Mikey’s lips were supple beneath Nick’s, and warm enamel pressed on either side of his mouth. It was almost like kissing through ivory bars. The nubs of his filed teeth pressed into a dip in Mikey’s front gums. Meanwhile, the dip in his own gums caught and held the base of Mikey’s teeth.

Though cushioned by their bottom lips, it still felt like a damn lock clicking into place. Their mouths melded, but not too deeply. The toothlock prevented it, and that was a good thing. Orc teeth were sharp and not real mood setters.

When the kiss ended, Nick realized he had pulled Mikey fully against himself so that his date now straddled him. They chuckled--panting the same air filled with a heady mixture of their combined scent. They had nothing to say. The scent and resuming the kisses said enough.

Nick allowed his hands to roam, taking a firm grip on Mikey’s ass and rocking him closer. They kissed and kissed until their mouths clicked apart and stayed apart.

“Sweet,” Nick rasped. So damn sweet.

“Want more?” Mikey asked and he opened the container, which was still trapped between them. The pie hadn't been what Nick was talking about, but he allowed Mikey to pick out a finger full and fed it to him.

Oh, fuck, yes.

He sucked the dessert from Mikey’s fingers, feeling an erection pressing against his. He grunted.

“You’re shaking,” Mikey whispered.

Nick’s ears twitched. “Probably because it’s been, ah, long--it’s been a long time.”

“It’s okay. You can let go. I can handle it.”

Breathless, uncertain. “You sure?”

Mikey stared deep into his eyes with a wicked little smirk and then rolled his hips, slowly, deliberately, into Nick. The friction made his eyes roll back.

“Oh. Mikey. Fuck.”

Nick didn't know what to do first. So many wants and needs converged. He wanted this date to be nice and full of conversation. He needed to come his brains out. He wanted a boyfriend to connect with. He needed a good, hard lay.

Breathing heavily, he unseated Mikey with one forceful heave. He spilled across the picnic blanket, stunned, a little rejected. “What? What are you doing?”

Nick stood over him and held out a hand to help.

“Get up. We’re going to my bedroom. Bring the pie.”

  
  


Mikey couldn't believe how cute this orc cop was being right now. The man was literally shaking with desire but going so slowly. Carefully. Mikey couldn't tell it if was nerves or manners, so he gave a clear green light of consent, hoping it would flip a switch. It didn't really.

They got all the way downstairs to his apartment and he _didn't_ throw Mikey against the wall and have his way. He _didn't_ manhandle him to the bedroom and take him apart ruthlessly.

All Nick did was invite him inside, slightly breathless, and offer to give him a quick tour if he wanted one. His eyes were heated and he smelled so freaking amazing. This was happening but not in any way Mikey expected.

He felt something warm sink through his chest as he opted out of the tour. This way was good. Mikey didn't mind taking charge. That was what the entire thing was about, after all. He was in control of his life now.

Time to take the bull by the horn... Literally.

“What's so funny?” Nick asked when Mikey snickered. He explained. Nick laughed and shook his head. By that point, Mikey had successfully maneuvered back into Nick’s lap.

He knew what he was doing.  He was by no means an expert, but this wasn't his first rodeo. It was, however, his first with someone older and more experienced. Mikey brought his A game but, when his confidence wavered or his stamina faltered, Nick picked up the slack like a damn champion. It was like nothing Mikey ever knew before. His ex boyfriend's were his age, with more or less the same stats. If he reached a limit, they were right there with him.

Not Nick.

He helped Mikey to places of pleasure he never knew. This was one hundred percent the definition of broadening one’s horizons. Mikey learned some things, the greatest of which was what it really meant to be a kind, considerate lover. Nick made it look so easy.

“That was fun,” Nick said afterward, grinning boyishly.

Mikey snuggled close to him. “The best ever.”

“Really?” Nick sounded shocked.

“Hm-mh. Is it weird I said so?”

“No---it’s just…. No one has ever said I was the best before. I'm flattered. You were great, too. So good.”

“Well… you made me feel so safe and sexy… I've never lasted that long before.” Mikey confessed bashfully.

Nick traced the shell of his ear. “Anytime you want practice give me a call.”

Mikey snickered. “Deal.”

“Now,” Nick wrapped him up in his arms and closed his eyes. “We earned a nap.”

 


End file.
